Critical Role: Somatic
by Eponymous Rose
Summary: Early in her adventuring days, all Allura wants to do is find one of Emon's less scrupulous back-alley dealers of rare and magical literary works and engage in a bit of necessary-evil skulduggery. Instead, she's got a shining beacon of Bahamut's glory stuck to her like a particularly virtuous limpet.


"This isn't exactly necessary, you know," Allura says, pausing to lean against a wall and dig a pebble from her boot. Amazing, that such a small thing can still be such an irritation. Given the amount she's been walking lately, she's amazed her foot isn't one big callus by now.

Kima waits, slinging her maul over one shoulder, and squints suspiciously at a young elf walking past them and up towards the busy thoroughfare. "It's fine," she says, and doesn't take her eyes off him until he's out of sight.

Allura sighs, lingering over the act of refastening her boot. They've two days to kill while Drake books them passage across the Ozmit Sea, and she'd honestly been looking forward to sneaking off and finding a quiet library somewhere to do a bit of reading. Or, well, finding one of Emon's less scrupulous back-alley dealers of rare and magical literary works and engaging in a bit of necessary-evil skulduggery.

Instead, she's got a shining beacon of Bahamut's glory stuck to her like a particularly virtuous limpet.

Kima glances over. "You need help with that or what?"

Blinking out of her reverie, Allura finishes buckling her boot and stands, dusting off her knees. "Listen, Kima, it's not that I don't appreciate—"

With a groan, Kima swings her maul down into the packed dirt and leans against it. "Trust me, it's not by choice. This is a rough part of town, portside. I'm just gonna see you to somewhere a little safer, that's all." She nods a warning to a man dressed in black who starts to slow his gait, and after a glance at her gleaming plate armor, he walks on. "Let's just say you stand out a bit with your expensive robes. And I've got this whole thing going on where I'm kind of sworn to protect those who need protecting. Go figure."

"I can take care of myself," Allura says, and winces at the petulance that flickers into her voice. After all, it's not an unreasonable assumption for Kima to have made. Without Drake to back her up, none of the rest of their newly formed group has any particular reason to expect Allura to be more than the bookish spellcaster they've been saddled with for the sake of political expediency.

"Great," says Kima, hefting the maul back over her shoulder. "So that'll make my job easier. You good?"

"I'm fine," Allura says, and summons up a smile when Kima silently falls into step beside her. No sense in getting frustrated. There will be other days to explore the more fascinating arcane secrets the city has to offer, and in the months to come there will be endlessly more important people to impress than one abrasive paladin. "Bahamut, yes?"

"Yep," Kima says, peering up at the rooftop of a nearby building. "Help the helpless, do no harm, all that good stuff. This alley will get us there faster, I think. C'mon."

"I've heard good things about Bahamut," Allura says, and can't help laughing at herself, because it's quite possibly the single most banal statement she's ever made in her life. "I'm sorry. My work only rarely intersects with the deities, so I confess to being a little out of my element—"

For the first time since splitting off from the rest of the group, Kima's attention snaps away from their surroundings and focuses in on her with startling intensity. "Do you do good?"

Allura slows her pace, then stops when she realizes Kima isn't following. "Sorry? I mean, yes, I try to. That's the whole point of this expedition, after all."

Kima is still watching her, brow furrowed. "Then your work is also Bahamut's work."

"I... suppose it is. I hadn't thought about it that way."

Kima shrugs. "I don't mean to be pushy. But I think you sell yourself short if you discount the intersection of your life with the Platinum Dragon's sphere of influence."

"Well," Allura says, a bit weakly, "I guess that intersection's going to be especially hard to discount in the coming weeks."

To her surprise, Kima breaks into a crooked grin. "You sound so thrilled. I knew there was a bit of pettiness in there somewhere."

Before Allura can reply, something shifts in Kima's face. " _Shit_ ," she snarls, and grabs Allura by the arm, pushing her bodily—and with surprising force—into a wall.

Allura gasps, stumbles, finally catches herself against the uneven stonework that makes up the edge of the alley, glancing up in time to see an axe swinging down at her head. Before she can finish the incantation that races to her lips, Kima's already stepped in front of her, swinging the maul up to meet the blade halfway in a shower of sparks. "Run!" Kima yells, just as Allura whispers the last syllables of the spell.

For a moment, the alley around her softens out of focus, wavering like summer heat on bare rock, and when the world snaps back into place, Allura finds herself several dozen feet away, well out of range of the nasty-looking greataxe. A moment's pause to assess the situation: Kima shoves upward with her maul, forcing the attacker—a half-orc, by the size of him—to stumble back a couple of paces. Dressed all in black, clothes richer than most they've passed in this particular neighborhood. Thief? Assassin? Working alone?

Apparently not; an elf in similar dress drops to the cobblestones in front of Allura, already stalking towards Kima even as the half-orc takes another swing at her. Allura dances back a step, then, gauging the distance, moves just a hair to her left, reaching into her robes for the piece of amber she keeps for precisely this occasion, shifting her hands into the gestures she'd painstakingly copied into her spellbook, whispering the words she'd practiced and perfected. The crackle of energy starts in her shoulders, courses through her arms and down into her fingers, where the sheer wild power of it begs release.

The lightning bolt actually sends her stumbling back a step, but she keeps her focus, watches it jolt through the body of the elf in front of her, watches it slam into the side of the half-orc, watches Kima yelp and spin away from him as he contorts in agony, crackles of energy sparking away from him and grounding down through his boots. Breathing heavily, Allura calls, "Kima, move back!" and raises her hand—

The pain is immediate, stunning, and her first instinct is to jerk away from the sudden bloom of agony in her hand. But the crossbow bolt has actually _pinned her hand to the wall behind her_ , and the motion just drags bone against the wood of the bolt, sending a dizzying wave of nausea through her. She looks up, clenches her other hand around the bolt, already slippery with blood.

A third attacker steps out of the shadows, strolling towards her. This one looks human, maybe, and moves with leisurely intent, slinging the crossbow over her shoulder. Gasping for breath, Allura glances over to Kima, but the half-orc and the elf have apparently shaken off the effects of the lightning bolt and have redoubled their attack with axe and sword.

Gritting her teeth, Allura yanks the bolt out of the wall and her hand, then doubles over, clutching at her shaking, bloodied hand, backing into the wall behind her. The human, still approaching calmly, cocks her head to one side. "Such finery in our little corner of town. And such an interesting pair of emissaries to send on a mission on the Sovereign's behalf."

At that, Allura looks up, twisting her left hand into a familiar shape, whispering under her breath—

Before Allura can release the magic missile, the human closes the distance between them, grabs her by the wrist, and drives a dagger through her good hand. "I find it so much easier," she says, soft voice cutting across Allura's shout of pain, "to deal with spellcasters when they can't make all those fiddly little hand-motions. Shall we have a talk?"

It hurts. It _hurts_. Allura can feel the darkness clouding the edges of her vision, tries to focus on something, anything, the glint of Kima's armor in the distance, the sound of steel on steel, the cool hand encircling her wrist, but her fingers are twitching spasmodically, and every small motion sends another wave of agony up her arm. "You're young," the human says, voice still soft, and pulls the dagger free of Allura's hand; she can't quite stifle a yelp. "You haven't felt anything like this before. You will tell me what the Sovereign has you doing and I'll make the pain stop."

Allura holds her breath a moment, then exhales, shakily. The suggestion—the Suggestion—flits across her mind, but it doesn't settle down, doesn't take root. She knows the spell for what it is. Smiles, shakily.

Behind her, somewhere, she hears Kima bellow, her voice imbued with divine strength, " _Halt_!"

The human's expression, already twisting into confusion at the failure of the Suggestion spell, goes suddenly slack, her grip loosening on Allura's wrist. Allura jerks back a step, forces her bloodied, twitching hands around the hilt of the human's dagger, and plunges it into her chest.

The human regains her senses, briefly, before the end, with a bubbling scream of pain, but Allura has already dropped the dagger from her clenching, spasming fingers, is already sinking down against the wall behind her. The darkness at the edges of her vision has swarmed inward; the only thing she can focus on is the bloodied mess of her hands, cradled close against her robes.

The clash of metal on metal barely registers, somewhere at the back of her mind, but one sound cuts clear and crisp through the haze of her mind: Kima gasps, softly.

Allura looks up, drags herself to her feet, in time to see the elf fall, his skull partly caved in by Kima's maul. In time to see the half-orc swing his axe in retaliation and slam it into the gap along Kima's shoulder pauldron. In time to see her take one shaking step and slump bonelessly to the ground.

Allura raises one twitching hand, bends the fingers with bone-grinding effort, twists the wrist, murmurs under her breath. The fire bolt spell is weak, but the half-orc has taken a lot of hits; he falls like an old log when the flames burst over his cloak.

"Kima," Allura says, into the strange silence that follows. Her voice is weak, shaking. "Kima."

Kima makes no response.

Allura shoves herself to her feet, stumbles to Kima's side, and falls more than sits beside her. This close, she can tell that Kima's breathing is hoarse, uneven. She can see the blood pooling on the ground. Allura scrabbles for the potion at her side, clenches it between her ruined palms and pulls the cork with her teeth. It takes an eternity to pour it into Kima's mouth, to wait for the last of the liquid to run from the vial, and the moment it's empty she pulls back, lets the empty vial clatter to the ground, and hunches forward over her hands, breathing hard.

Beside her, Kima coughs and swears softly under her breath, then rolls up onto her elbows and says, hoarsely, "Well. That was fun. We should probably go tell the Sovereign the 'secret' part of his secret mission is a bit of a wash, huh?"

Allura means to laugh, she really does, but it comes out as a strangled sob. Kima says, softly, "Oh, hells," and pushes closer, hand resting on Allura's shoulder. "Let me see," she says. "C'mon, let's take a look."

Allura unfolds with an effort, twisting her wrists to show her hands palm-up. She catches sight of a glint of bone amid all the blood and sways forward again. "Hey," Kima says, tightening her grasp on Allura's shoulder to keep her from falling forward. "Hey, you're all right. Are you hurt anywhere else? Allura. _Allie._ "

At the unfamiliar nickname, Allura glances up, meets Kima's eyes. Shakes her head.

"All right," Kima says. "This I can work with." With a surprising gentleness given her armored gauntlets, she reaches out and takes Allura's hands in her own. Allura flinches back, instinctively, but the pulse of warmth is immediately and overwhelmingly pleasant, an instant cessation of horrific pain. "There," Kima says, grinning. "Better?"

Allura gasps a breath, clenches her hands experimentally against Kima's. The faint ache is so far removed from the recent immediate, continuous agony that she can't even find words for a moment. "Yes," she says at last. "Thank you."

Kima laughs, turns Allura's hands over to inspect the fresh scars, already fading. "You're way too unflappable, you know that? I swear you don't even have a single hair out of place."

"Didn't even have to break a sweat," Allura says. "Thank you for that spell, by the way. It was well-timed."

"Well, good," Kima says. "I figured things were probably going badly over there. I was just hoping I wasn't interrupting some delicate negotiations or something."

"Not at all," Allura says, wryly. "Negotiations broke down around the time she shot me through the hand with a crossbow bolt."

Kima rubs her thumb against the circular scar on Allura's right hand, thoughtfully. "So I see. Thanks for the potion. And that lightning was impressive as fuck. I'm sorry I didn't do much good in the way of keeping you out of trouble."

With an indelicate snort, Allura cocks her head to one side. "Is that your mission?"

Kima glances away and smiles; it's not her usual wry smirk, but something a little softer, warmer. "Someone's gotta do it."

Allura tightens her grip on Kima's hands, squeezes experimentally. Now even the faint ache is gone. "Hey," she says, and when Kima glances up she leans forward and kisses her.

It's quick, a brief brush of lips, but when Allura pulls back Kima's eyes are wide as dinner-plates. "Oh," she says.

Allura squeezes her hands again, then releases them and pushes shakily to her feet. "Even after we report this, we'll have a great deal of time to kill. And I regret to inform you that I am perfectly capable of getting into trouble even in the Cloudtop District."

"Um," Kima says, bracing herself against her maul. "I guess that means I should probably continue to escort you on your journey through the city. Just to be safe."

"Just to be safe," Allura says, and smiles.


End file.
